“BOAT-CALL FOR THE POLICE”
“WE’D certainly hate to believe anything of the sort,” said Oliver
Dixon, slowly, in a half-purring tone, though reluctant suspicion
sounded in his voice.
“I wouldn’t believe _that_—not if anyone swore himself as an
eye-witness,” declared Ida Silsbee, promptly.
Skipper Tom thanked her with a swift, eloquent glance.
“It _would_ seem absurd,” declared Mrs. Tremaine, though there was the
briefest touch of hesitation in her tone.
“Confound my buzzing head! I don’t know what to say yet,” grumbled
Henry Tremaine.
“I want this matter investigated to the very bottom,” protested
Halstead, his voice shaking as no terror of the hurricane could have
made it shake.
“Oh, well, the money must be somewhere on board, unless the one who
took it threw it into the sea,” replied Henry Tremaine, pulling
himself to his feet.
“And we won’t let anyone off this yacht, either, until the search has
been made to the very end,” declared Tom Halstead. “Everybody and every
nook and corner must stand search.”
“For that matter,” smiled Oliver Dixon, dully, “there must be countless
little nooks and crannies on this boat where anyone knowing the craft
could tuck away a small bundle of banknotes.”
“I’ll show every nook and cranny I know,” retorted Tom, turning almost
fiercely on Dixon. “So will Joe Dawson. And, to prove our good faith,
we’ll let the police authorities bring on board as many men as they
like whose knowledge will fit them to search a craft like this.”
“Captain Halstead,” asked Ida Silsbee, stepping forward, speaking very
softly, while her cheeks glowed, “will you take my hand?”
In sheer gratitude Captain Tom seized the dainty hand offered him,
pressing it hard, while Oliver Dixon looked on, green-eyed with
jealousy.
“Won’t you let me offer my hand, too, Captain Halstead?” asked Mrs.
Tremaine.
Tom grasped hers, in turn.
“Oh, hang it all,” cried Henry Tremaine, “ten thousand dollars isn’t
all the money in the world. It isn’t all the money in _my_ little
world, either. This will all come out all right. I want to be a decent
fellow, and I would be, too, if this raging head of mine would only let
me.”
“I’ll help you to a seat, dear, and bathe your head,” suggested Mrs.
Tremaine, to which suggestion her husband assented.
“I must go on deck, now—simply _must_,” announced Halstead. “Yet I’d
feel better about it if one of you could come up with me—just to see
that I don’t dispose of the money, you know,” he added, with a wan
attempt at a smile.
“I’m not needed here; I’ll go with you, Captain,” spoke up Ida Silsbee.
“No, no, no!” protested Dixon, almost hoarsely, as he pressed forward.
“_I_ will go.”
“By all means, Mr. Dixon, if you wish,” replied Ida Silsbee, flashing a
curious look at him. “But I’m going with Captain Halstead, anyway, and
I think you might better remain here, to be of possible service to Mrs.
Tremaine.”
“But—but you’ll be in danger on deck,” objected Dixon.
“I doubt it,” retorted Ida Silsbee, with a toss of her head. “But even
so, I shall be in the care of two whose bravery I have been made to
respect.”
“As you will, then,” replied Dixon, in what he meant to be a coaxing
voice. Yet his scowling look followed Tom Halstead.
“It was tremendously good of you——” murmured the young skipper, as the
two walked through the passageway.
“What? To believe you honest?” inquired the girl. “I can’t believe that
young men as cool and brave, and as unmindful of fatigue, as you two
have been through the night can be anything but staunch and honest.”
“Thank you. Now, wait a moment, please, until I call out to Ham to
pull his berth curtains before you pass through the motor room,” urged
Halstead.
It took him a minute or so to rouse Ham Mockus and make that steward
comprehend. Then the young skipper led the girl into the motor room.
“It’ll be pretty wet on deck, even yet,” hinted the lad, pausing in the
motor room. “Here’s an oilskin coat. You had better slip it on.”
After helping her into the enveloping garment, Halstead assisted her to
step onto the bridge deck.
“Better get a tight hold on the life-lines, Miss Silsbee,” he urged.
Joe Dawson, dog tired, was glad none the less, that his chum had
been able to snatch some rest. Joe nodded brightly to both, then the
sight of the young captain’s drawn face caught the young engineer’s
attention.
“What on earth is the matter, Tom?” he demanded.
“During the night ten thousand dollars belonging to Mr. Tremaine has
disappeared.”
“No!” exploded Joe, incredulously.
“It seems to be a fact, though,” Tom nodded, dully. “Let me have the
wheel. Then stand by and I’ll tell you about it.”
The “Restless” was, as Halstead had supposed, now running in at the
mouth of Oyster Bay. Though the water was rough, here at the mouth, it
was noticeably smoother than it had been out on the Gulf. A good deal
of spray dashed over the bow and rail from starboard. It was broad
daylight, though a gray, drizzly morning. The low, sandy coast, with
scant forestry, looked uninviting enough in the dull light.
As for Skipper Tom, he took only a long enough look at his surroundings
to make out where he was. Then he plunged into his story, while Miss
Silsbee walked down by the cabin deck-house.
“Naturally, perhaps,” Tom finished, “there’s almost a suspicion that I
got the money.”
“You?” gasped Joe, thunderstruck. All his belief in his comrade was
expressed in the explosive, unbelieving way that he uttered that
single syllable, “you.”
“Of course I haven’t touched the money,” Tom pursued, dully, as he
threw the wheel over to avoid the worst force of an onrolling big wave.
“But yet you can’t blame Mr. Tremaine, if he wonders, can you?”
“I blame him for poor judgment of human nature, anyway!” vented Joe
Dawson, hotly.
“Bravo, Mr. Dawson!” applauded Ida Silsbee, and Joe turned to
acknowledge this championship with a graceful bow.
“When we reach anchor, presently,” Tom went on, doggedly, “I’m going to
sound the whistle for the police, and I mean to have every man on board
searched from top to toe. That failing, we’ll search every corner of
the boat itself.”
“Oh, you and I can stand a search, all right,” declared Joe, cheerily,
only to add, glumly:
“But to think that such a thing as that could happen aboard the
‘Restless’! I tell you, I——”
He had been about to declare his suspicion of Oliver Dixon, whom he
had disliked almost from the first, when Joe suddenly recollected Miss
Silsbee’s presence. Dixon was paying court to this girl, and Dawson
wanted to play fairly.
Through Halstead’s mind, however, the same suspicion of the young man
was running. For now the young skipper remembered the vial in which he
had seen Dixon dissolving something. Captain Halstead also remembered
having, through the peep-hole, seen Dixon pour some of the contents of
the vial into the water bottle on the sideboard.
“And Mr. Tremaine is the only one of the passengers who takes a glass
of water the last thing before turning in,” flashed through the
youthful skipper’s mind.
The hatchway opened to admit another arrival on deck. This time it was
Dixon, who had only awaited his opportunity to gain the deck before Ida
Silsbee could prevent.
“You came on deck, anyway,” was the girl’s rather chilly greeting. Joe
having fallen back from the wheel, Miss Silsbee stepped up beside the
youthfull skipper, as though determined to give Dixon no chance for her
society. Joe Dawson was quick to follow this up by saying:
“Mr. Dixon, if you’ve the time to spare, I’d like to have you walk aft
with me. I’ve one or two things I’m burning to ask.”
“Well?” demanded the young man, as they reached the after deck.
“How did Captain Halstead happen to get locked in with the air
compartment last night?”
“How do I know?” muttered the young man, paling slightly.
“Don’t you?”
“Of course not.”
“Do _you_ suspect any of our crew of taking Mr. Tremaine’s money?”
persisted Joe.
“Why, that would be a fearful thing to say.”
“Don’t you care to answer me?”
“I don’t care to discuss the matter at all.”
“Very good, sir,” returned Dawson, curtly. “That is all.”
Turning on his heel, he left Dixon, the latter feeling queerly
uncomfortable, for, all the time they were talking together, Joe had
kept his own eyes turned keenly on Dixon’s.
Miss Silsbee kept so close to Tom that Dixon, when he finally came
forward once more, soon made an excuse to go below.
“Have you ever seen the town of Tres Arbores?” queried Halstead,
something like three-quarters of an hour later.
“Never,” replied Ida Silsbee.
“Unless my chart lies, that’s Tres Arbores off the starboard bow,”
Halstead continued.
“Is that where Mr. Tremaine wants you to dock?”
“It’s the present end of the voyage. We can’t dock, though, as there
is no dock there. We’ll have to anchor and row ashore to the little
landing stage.”
Joe, five minutes later, routed Ham up from below. That young colored
man came up rubbing his eyes, but he looked mightily pleased when he
caught sight of the nearby shore.
“Ah reckon ole Satan didn’ ride dat gale all de way,” he grinned.
“We’se done reach poht all right.”
Joe, with the sounding lead, kept track of the depths here. Tom ran the
“Restless” in to within a quarter of a mile of the landing stage, then
shut off speed, drifting under decreasing headway for some distance ere
he gave the word for Joe and Ham to heave the anchor.
Then, all at once, the whistle shrilled out, in a succession of long
blasts.
“What’s that for?” asked Miss Silsbee, curiously, when the din had
stopped.
“Boat-call for the police,” replied Tom Halstead, reddening not a
little.